Gentle
by Cruellae
Summary: Danarius's new apprentice was nothing like he'd expected.  He tried to hate her, like he hated all mages, but he simply couldn't.  AU, Hawke/Fenris, M rated.
1. Chapter 1

Because one project wasn't enough, and this AU prompt from the kinkmeme inspired me...

This one requires a little explaining. So...in this world, the boat from Seheron had room for one more, and so Fenris never escaped Danarius. Several years later, the Champion and company are on the run after Anders's little stunt at the Chantry. They head to Tevinter (where better to hide three apostates?) and run into a certain slave...

Warning: this contains violence and references to rape, so please read with caution.

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><p>New note: I am no longer continuing this story. I was never entirely happy with it, so I am re-writing it to be closer to my original vision for this AU. If you're interested, check out my story "Grace." Thanks to everyone who's read this and reviewed it! I hope you like the new one!<p>

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><p>Fenris wasn't sure what he'd expected from Danarius's new apprentice, but it certainly wasn't this. He'd heard Hadriana bitching about the "Ferelden barbarian" for weeks now, and was wondering if Danarius had taken this new apprentice just to spite her and the other magisters. So he'd been expecting some large, hairy beast of a man, not this small graceful woman.<p>

She was plain compared to Hadriana, who wore elaborately embroidered robes that fell to the floor and whose hair was always perfectly coiffed. But she was beautiful in her simplicity, brown hair falling to her waist, emerald green eyes and full ruby lips the only jewelry she really needed.

Danarius greeted her in his grand hall, smiling widely, which made Hadriana scowl. He noticed her eyes falling on him, tracing his markings like everyone else did. It made him stiffen, just a bit—he hated the scrutiny, the magisters discussing his value and the experiments Danarius had been able to do with him. But when Danarius presented him, with a flourish, and described his markings, he saw horror in her eyes, and…was it sympathy?

He followed his master down the hall to the dinner table, which had been set with a lavish feast. His mouth watered as he looked over the meal, but it was not for him. His duty was to stand behind Danarius's chair, a silent and intimidating guard. He watched the new apprentice pick at her food, frowning, throwing glances his way when she thought he wouldn't notice. He tried to hate her like he hated all magisters, but it wasn't the same, somehow.

"So I hear you're a spirit healer," said Hadriana, in a tone that clearly implied an insult.

"I am," replied the new apprentice, smiling. Hawke…her name was Hawke. Named after an animal, like himself.

"That must be…useful." Hadriana's sarcasm and contempt were clear.

"It is," said Hawke. "I can teach you, if you'd like to learn." Her tone was just as cold as Hadriana's, and her words just as carefully crafted to insult. Perhaps she did belong among the magisters after all.

Hadriana laughed, but it was clear the insult hit its mark. _I can do something you can't_, Hawke had said in so many words.

"Your skills will…complement each other," said Danarius, looking over his two apprentices. He grinned.

"And we are lucky to have you to guide us," said Hadriana, her tone the syrupy sweet she adopted when flattering Danarius. He saw through her flattery—but that did not mean he didn't like it.

"Come, ladies," said Danarius. "Let's adjourn to the sitting room. I have much to discuss with both of you." He turned to Fenris. "Bring a bottle of wine…the Aggregio I think."

As Fenris walked away, he heard Danarius speaking to Hawke. "Most loyal bodyguard, and skilled in…all manner of things." Hawke's response was too soft to hear, her voice lilting and gentle. Fenris stood still long enough to hear Danarius laugh. "Ah, I forgot," said the magister, "you Ferelden barbarians are so unused to the convenience of slaves."

Fenris poured the wine for them, the red liquid pooling in the thick crystal glasses. He could not help but watch Hawke's graceful fingers curl around the stem, lift the glass to her lips.

Unused to the convenience of slaves? Did that mean she did not keep slaves herself? He wondered about this for the rest of the evening, until the three adjourned to their rooms, the two apprentices to the guest quarters. He followed Danarius back to the luxurious master bedroom.

"Imagine, no slaves," said Danarius, chuckling. "Ah, this Fereldan and her customs. She'll be amusing, at the very least. I'm afraid she probably won't survive long here. More's the pity."

Fenris helped Danarius out of his clothes and hung them up in the closet.

"Hadriana's already looking to take her down," said Danarius, "and I'm afraid she probably doesn't have the mettle to stand up to her." He chuckled again. "A spirit healer! How quaint."

He turned back to Fenris. "I require some services tonight," he said. "Strip and get on the bed."

Fenris raised his hands to comply and then let them fall back at his sides, leaden, limp. He thought of the new apprentice and for some reason he could not bring himself to obey. His insides were sick with fear, so much so he was nearly shaking, and yet he could not force himself to kneel on the bed.

"Now, Fenris," said Danarius, his voice dropping into the register that meant danger to any of his slaves.

Fenris said nothing and did not move. Inside his head he screamed, but to an outsider it would seem as though he were a statue.

Suddenly magical tendrils wrapped themselves around his wrists, raising them above his head. Other tendrils rooted his feet to the ground. He could not move, could barely breathe because he knew what came next.

Danarius took a whip from his drawers and undid Fenris's armor so that he was completely naked. The tendrils forced him to kneel over the bed, and Danarius knelt behind him.

Danarius did not speak, but Fenris could hear him panting, from anger or excitement or both he could not say.

From the moment the whip first touched his flesh, he knew his master had lost control. He had been beaten before, but never so horribly. He had been raped before, but never so violently. He lost consciousness once or twice only to wake again to more pain until it felt as though there was not a single spot on his body that didn't scream with agony. Danarius's floor and bed were covered in blood, and dimly through the pain Fenris worried how angry the master would be when he realized the mess.

"Stand up," said Danarius, and Fenris struggled to comply. He bent over and threw up on the floor, unable to help himself.

"Crawl then, if that suits you," said Danarius, and Fenris complied, his knees raw against the thick carpet as he followed Danarius through the hallway towards the guest wing of the house. Fear bloomed again in his stomach. Danarius was taking him to Hadriana for more punishment, he was certain. And in the state he was in now, Hadriana would surely kill him.

But they did not turn to Hadriana's room, but to the door across from it. Danarius knocked, and after a few minutes, a sleepy looking Hawke answered.

"I have need of your…talents," said Danarius, gesturing to Fenris.

Hawke's eyes widened as she saw him on the floor, and he could see in her gaze just how bad his injuries must be.

"Of course," she said. "You may leave him here. You must need rest after such exertion," she said to Danarius, who turned on his heel and left without giving Fenris a second glance.

"Oh, Maker," Hawke whimpered, and cast a spell on him. Fenris did not like having magic cast on him, but this spell actually made the pain lessen a fair bit. With her help he was able to stand, and she guided him over to the bed.

"Lay down," she said, her voice so soft.

"I'll get it messy," he managed to say, his voice rough.

"Don't worry about that," she said. "Just rest."

He lay on his stomach. She cast a spell and before he knew it, he had drifted into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, his pain was an ache, not a scream, and someone was touching him. He pretended to be asleep, forcing himself to breathe deeply despite the fear of not knowing where he was or whose hands were on his back. Slowly it came back to him…the beating, the apprentice. Her hands were soft and warm, they were rubbing some type of lotion on his back. He had never been touched like this, by soft comforting hands, and it felt incredible. It was almost worth the ache he still felt to receive such attentions.

After a while the hands stopped, and he finally forced himself to open his eyes and struggle to sit up.

"Let me help you," said Hawke. She touched him again and he sighed, it felt so nice, even though she was just helping him sit up and stacking pillows behind him for him to lean on.

"How do you feel?" she asked. He saw real concern in her eyes.

"Much better," he said. "You are amazing."

"Fenris, I…" she turned as there was a knock on the door.

"How is my little wolf?" came Danarius's voice through the door.

"He lives," said Hawke, "but he's still terribly weak. He needs more healing and I need food. Have a slave bring me some breakfast."

Fenris stiffened. Her voice had gone from the gentle tone of a healer to the cruel cadence of a magister. But when she turned back to him she was gentle again, sweet. She brushed the hair from his face and ran a hand over his cheek. He was shocked when he looked up at her and saw tears in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Fenris," she said. "What happened?"

He shook his head. He couldn't tell her. He turned away, afraid she might be angry.

"It's okay," she said.

The slave knocked on the door with breakfast. Hawke picked up the tray and set it in front of him. He stared at the food, uncertain of what she wanted.

"Go ahead," she said. "Eat."

He did not wait for her to tell him twice—or worse, change her mind. Hadriana's visit meant he had not eaten much in the last few days, and now that his pain had subsided somewhat, he realized he was ravenous.

Hawke sat at the small table in the room, mixing potions. They smelled sweet, even from the bed, unlike Danarius's vile concoctions. She brought him one when he finished his meal.

"Drink this," she said. "It will help, but it will also put you to sleep for a while. That's probably for the best, though, sleep will speed your healing."

He wanted to say no. He did not want to sleep, not when he had only a few more precious hours in her company before he would be returned to his master.

She misread the hesitation in his eyes.

"I won't hurt you," she said, and her hand came up to cup his cheek. He leaned his head slightly against her palm, drinking in the touch as though he were dying of thirst—which perhaps he was.

He nodded and drank the potion.

He woke to someone curled around his back, holding his wrists with a gentle but firm grip. He started and pulled away, alarmed and ready to fight, glowing blue as he drew power from his markings. He whirled around to face his adversary…

But it was only the apprentice, looking…was it ashamed?

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you. You were thrashing in your sleep and I didn't want you to open any of your wounds."

She did look genuinely sorry, and it surprised him. It surprised him even more when she walked up to him, her eyes glimmering with unspilled tears, and put her palm against his cheek again.

"Fenris," she said, "I'm so sorry. I wish I could protect you."

He could not bear to see her so sad. He put on what he hoped was a brave face and gave her a tentative smile.

"You've already done so much for me," he said. "I thank you." He wanted to touch her but he did not dare. Despite all the kindness she'd shown him, she was still a magister's apprentice, and an unwanted gesture could mean punishment. So instead he walked to the door, still amazed that he could walk given the beating he'd taken last night, and went back to Danarius.


	2. Chapter 2

Danarius met his two apprentices in the sitting room, Fenris standing silent sentry over his shoulder.

"Tell me, Hawke," he said, "how is the little wolf?"

"I'm afraid he will never be quite as strong," she said, "or as graceful. His bones are permanently damaged."

"I see," said Danarius. "How unfortunate. Still, it had to be done. Fenris…disobeyed me."

"Then no punishment is enough," said Hadriana.

"Agreed," said Danarius. "I'm afraid I must be rid of him, despite his value. Such a pity."

"Allow me to put him down," said Hadriana. "I have not had a new plaything in quite some time."

Fenris stiffened, fear coursing through him. Hadriana noticed his fear and smiled, showing her teeth.

"Allow me, Master," said Hawke, her tone as cold as Hadriana's. "I know more than just healing magic, and I have not had a pet so…intriguing before."

Fenris turned wide eyes on Hawke. Surely the gentle hands he remembered from just this morning could not belong to a woman so cold and heartless.

"What a wonderful dilemma," said Danarius. "What magister has two such _willing_ apprentices?"

Hawke turned heavy lidded, flirty eyes on Danarius. "I am more than willing, Master," she said, her voice low and husky.

"As am I," said Hadriana, trying to match the tone, but Hawke had beat her to the punch, and a new apprentice was much more intriguing than the one Danarius had taken many times before.

"Are you?" he said to Hawke, ignoring Hadriana completely. "That is…good to hear." Danarius ran a hand down Hawke's arm and she bit her lip.

Fenris stared at her in horror. The woman whose touch had been so sweet and so stirring was going to make herself into Danarius's whore? She had tricked him with those touches, with her healing. All she wanted was a plaything, a toy, and she was willing to fuck his despicable master to get it.

"Hadriana," Danarius said, "you may play with Fenris for the afternoon. Then Hawke gets to take him home. How's that for a compromise?"

Hadriana smiled, though it was clearly fake. "You are too generous, master," she said.

"And perhaps you might like to see my laboratory while Hadriana is occupied," Danarius said to Hawke, who gave him a wide smile.

"It would be my pleasure," she said.

Hadriana took Fenris back to her guest rooms. She was not so crude as to use a whip, like Danarius was so fond of. She used magic instead, crackles of electricity, searing heat.

Beneath the pain Hadriana was inflicting was a greater ache. Fenris could not help but think of what Danarius might be doing to the beautiful apprentice while he was writhing on Hadriana's bed. He thought of the things Danarius did to him—and the thought of Hawke receiving similar treatment…it was too much to bear. He almost wished Hadriana would kill him and be done with it—he'd rather die at her hands than at the hands that had been so gentle and kind, the lying hands that had tricked him and used him and would soon kill him.

In her anger, Hadriana did come close to killing him, freezing him so deeply his heart nearly stopped beating. Again he could barely walk when she returned him to Danarius, muscles aching from a cold that seemed to radiate from his core, burns on the palms of his hands and neck and other sensitive areas.

"I'm afraid I must return to my manor tonight," said Hawke, looking at Danarius. "I will miss your attentions," she said, dropping her voice an octave.

"I will miss you, my pet," said Danarius. "And my little wolf. But do what must be done."

"It will be my pleasure," replied Hawke. "Come, Fenris," she said with barely a glance to see if he could stand.

He followed her out the door and down the winding road through Danarius's gardens. Once they were out of sight of the house, she cast a spell and he immediately stiffened, loathing running through him.

"It's just to ease the pain," she said, and her voice had changed, back to the soft healer's tone she'd used with him before.

If only he could forget this whole afternoon, he thought, he could love her for that voice alone.

"I'll take care of your injuries once we're back at my place," she said. "I don't want Danarius or Hadriana to get suspicious. Can you walk for a ways?"

He nodded, refusing to show her any weakness.

Her mansion turned out to be a small estate in the nice part of town, not nearly as grand as Danarius's, but then again she was just an apprentice, not a magister.

As soon as she entered the building, Fenris at her back, she was ambushed by two very concerned mages.

"How was it?" asked Anders. "Did you get the apprenticeship?"

"Who is this?" asked Merrill at the exact same time. "He looks like he got in a fight with a demon."

"It went well," said Hawke, to answer Anders. "He kind of did," she replied to Merrill.

She brushed past both of them, not breaking her stride. "This is Fenris. He needs healing right away, and there will be time for introductions later."

"Do you need any help?" said Anders.

"I hate to ask," said Hawke, "but he's been hurt bad. If Justice could…what's been done to him is a horrible injustice, at least."

Fenris's eyes widened as Anders glowed a strange blue, his voice taken over by a deep resonant tone.

"It would be my pleasure," said Anders.

Despite the pain in his muscles, Fenris stepped between Anders and Hawke. "An abomination!" he said. "Get back, Mistress."

Hawke sighed. "There are so many things wrong with that I don't know where to start," she said. "Let's get you healed first."

She gestured to a large luxurious bed, and Fenris lay down upon it, looking from her to Anders, trying to guess which one would hurt him first, the whore or the abomination. But as Anders ran glowing hands over him, all he could feel was something in him straightening, righting itself. He felt his strength return, flow through him like warm water. And he slept, deeply.

When he woke, the sun was dipping towards the horizon outside. He heard someone crying, softly. He looked around the room, careful to make no noise. Hawke was sitting in a cushioned chair, her head in her hands, whimpering.

Why did he care, so much? Why did he want so badly to take her in his arms and whisper to her that nothing would ever hurt her again?

He watched her and wondered what to do, but before he could form a plan of action, the abomination entered the room again.

"Hawke," said Anders, "what is it?" He was whispering so as not to wake Fenris.

Hawke took a deep breath and put her hands down at her side. "It's nothing," she said.

"Hawke," he said, "you can tell me anything. After blowing up a Chantry, anything you've done would be tame in comparison."

Hawke laughed a little at this. "Promise you'll never tell anyone," she said.

"You think Justice would let me?" said Anders.

"Good point."

"So what is it?"

"Let's go for a walk," she said.

Fenris lay there until she returned. He wondered what could have made her cry like that, like she was broken and hurt. He had been so convinced she was heartless—and yet she was crying like her heart had been broken.

"Hi, Fenris," she said, smiling at him. He stared at her. He wanted to slap her across the face and he wanted to kiss her soft lips.

"How are you?" she said.

"I'm fine," he replied, and surprisingly, he was. There was still a deep ache in his muscles, but his burns were healed. He felt a hot flush of humiliation when he realized his burns _everywhere_ were healed, which meant she must know where Hadriana had burned him.

He sat up. He was dressed in a loose fitting tunic and linen trousers, tied around his waist with a red sash. At least she'd had the decency to dress him, he thought, bitter.

"Good," she said. She smiled again at him, so wide and sincere. Was she imagining what she would do to him, now that he belonged to her?

He would not give her the satisfaction of his fear.

"It's dinnertime," she said. "Come with me, I'll show you where the dining room is."

He said nothing, but stood obligingly to follow her. He felt strange and naked without his armor or a weapon, but he dared not ask for anything. Who knew what woman would answer his request—the strange and sweet one or the cruel cold magister.

She led him through darkened hallways to a large, bright room with a wide round table in the center. Around it were the two mages he'd seen earlier, a young man who looked a lot like Hawke, a lovely dark skinned woman decked in gold jewelry and scanty clothing, and a beardless dwarf dressed in fine brocade that showed off his chest hair.

"Fenris, this is Anders," she said, pointing to the abomination. "This is Merrill," she pointed to the other mages. Isabela was the dark skinned woman, Carver was Hawke's younger brother, and Varric was the dwarf. They all seemed unsurprised to see him.

"Another stray?" said Varric. "You're worse than Blondie."

"Two cats. Two cats. That's all I have," said Anders. "I don't go around 'collecting strays.'"

"Welcome to the family," said Carver.

Fenris acknowledged him with a nod, unable to think of a response. How strange that they all sat together at a round table, and even stranger, that Hawke gestured for him to sit next to her. A young elf served the food and then sat down with them as well.

"Oh right," said Hawke, "this is Orana," she gestured at the elf. "She's our extraordinary cook."

"Thank you," said Orana, blushing. "It's nice to meet you, Fenris."

Fenris nodded again and they all tucked into their food. He found he was hungry as well, and the food was good, surprisingly so.

There was little talk during dinner. Afterwards Hawke got up and started collecting plates. Fenris started violently—had he really been so neglectful that she must do that herself? Surely he or another one of the house slaves would be punished. He nearly knocked her over trying to take the plates from her.

"Fenris, what's this?" she said, turning to him.

"I…I am sorry, Mistress," she said.

She frowned, and he felt both shame and fear at her obvious displeasure. She set the dishes down.

"We'll take care of them," said Isabela. "You two go sort that out."

"Thanks," said Hawke.

She led Fenris into the garden behind the estate. Twilight was descending upon them, cool and welcoming. She sat beneath a large willow tree and gestured for him to sit next to her.

Hawke turned to him, and pressed a palm against his cheek, like she had done before. Fenris couldn't help but close his eyes at the unexpected pleasure of her touch.

"I'm sorry for what I said back at Danarius's place," she said to him. "I had to make him think I was as bloodthirsty as Hadriana, or he wouldn't have given you to me."

"Lucky me," said Fenris, bitter, unable to bite his tongue.

Hawke frowned. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I promise."

She took one of his hands in her own. "I don't want a slave," she said. "I don't keep slaves. But I would hire you, if you'd like. This is a dangerous place, and I need a bodyguard."

"You said it yourself," he said, angry. "I am, as you said…permanently damaged." He turned away from her. "I would not be strong enough to protect you. Just kill me and have done with it."

She guided his face back to look at her. "I lied," she said. Her eyes were sincere, soft. "I had hoped Danarius would give you up. I couldn't let you go back to him, not after how he hurt you."

He looked at her, confused.

She stood, smiling at him. "You can have a few days to rest and think about what I said. If you don't want to work with me, then when you're fully healed, I'll give you some money to do whatever you wish."

Fenris could only nod, speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

When she came back to check on him, a few hours later, he was still sitting under the tree. The garden was dark now, lit only by small magical lanterns around the fence.

"Fenris," she said, her voice gentle, "you haven't moved since I left you."

"You haven't told me to," he said.

She knelt before him. "I'm not your mistress," she said. "Only a friend."

Fenris shook his head. How could he explain it to her?

"I don't have friends," he said.

She looked at him and her gaze was sweet and intense all at once. He met her eyes with his own, defiant.

He would not let her trick him. He would be a good slave. He would please her.

Why did he want so badly to please her?

"You can work for me for a while, until you get your bearings," she said, "if that will make the transition easier."

"I'm a good bodyguard," he replied.

"You can sleep in the same room you were in this afternoon," she said. "I suggest you get some rest. You've been through a lot and your body is still healing."

"I won't be with you?" he said before he could stop himself.

"I have more than enough space here," she said. "You can have your own room."

"But how will I protect you?" he said.

"In this house there's three mages, a deadly pirate, Bianca, and you. I don't think I'm in any great danger when I sleep."

He wanted to protest further, but knew better. He headed down the hall to his own room, where he lay awake, wishing for armor and a weapon, until the moon was high in the sky. When it seemed late enough, he crept down the hallway to Hawke's room. He opened the door just enough to slip inside. She was sleeping on her side, curled up, her messy hair falling across her face. She was beautiful, and she made his insides feel warm and liquid, tingly somehow.

He lay down at the foot of her bed and was asleep within minutes.

He awoke to someone caressing his hair. He opened his eyes to see Hawke sitting next to him on the floor. Her face was sad, and his pleasure at her touch evaporated at the thought he'd displeased her somehow.

He'd meant to sneak back to his room long before she woke, but he must have slept deeply and late.

And now she knew he had disobeyed a direct order. He tensed, fear chilling him, and wondered what she would do.

"If you could speak your mind," she said, "what would you tell me?"

He only shook his head.

"Come here," she said, standing and reaching a hand down to him. He took it and she helped him up. He marveled for a bit at the strange gesture, the master helping the slave. He stood close to her and she stared at him, eyes intent.

"Is there something you want, Mistress?" he said. It was the wrong thing to say.

"I want you to stop calling me Mistress," she replied. "It's just Hawke."

"Hawke," he said. The foreign name felt strange and sharp in his mouth.

She took him down to breakfast. It was just the two of them, no one else was awake yet. The sky was still mostly dark, dawn had barely begun to show itself.

"I'm sorry I woke you so early," said Hawke. "I was worried about you and I couldn't sleep, so I went to go check on you. And then I found you curled up on my floor." She smiled.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I did not mean to disobey orders, but…"

"It's okay," she said. "You are used to things being a certain way. It takes time to get used to change."

He stole a glance at her face. How to tell her it was so much more than that? He would not have slept on the floor of Hadriana's room if she had ordered him away.

How to tell her that it had only been a few days and already he craved her touch, her voice, the soft sound of her sighs…how to tell her he needed to be near her, to hear her breathing…

"I'll get us some breakfast," she said. She disappeared into the kitchen and Fenris willed himself to stay still. She hadn't ordered him to help, so he shouldn't, but it felt wrong and strange to allow her to wait on him. She brought to the table a tray of fruit and pastries and set it between them.

"Help yourself," she said when he sat watching her eat. "You can have as much as you like to eat here, there's always plenty."

He nodded. It felt strange to sit and eat with the mistress—and no matter how many times she insisted she was no such thing, she had to be. He knew of no other way to be near her, to make her happy, except to be the best slave she'd ever had.

His hands fell at his sides and he watched her eat. He ached to touch her, to know what it would be like to wrap his arms around her and hold her, to feel her skin against his.

After breakfast she went to make potions. He wanted to stand at her side while she did so, but she said it would be unbearably boring to watch. She sent him away.

He paced in the gardens, unsure what to do with himself. Before, a few free moments snatched away from the master were always purposeful—he would rest or eat or wash. But she gave him more than enough time to do all those things anyway, so how was he supposed to spend his free time?

The abomination—Anders—found him in the garden.

"Hello," said Anders, a little timidly, as though Fenris were some wild creature he wasn't sure how to approach.

Fenris nodded at him.

"If it's okay," said Anders, "I'd like to check your injuries, make sure you're healing well."

Fenris nodded again. He dared not say no, although he was disappointed that it would be Anders and not Hawke attending to him. Still, he felt a bit of relief when Anders's rough hands on his skin did nothing for him, the touch was simply pressure and not the sweet liquid warmth that Hawke's touch always seemed to bring.

Perhaps he was only partly crazy.

There was one person in the house he knew he could speak to, one person who might understand. He felt a strange kinship with Orana, who snuck him bits of food and occasionally slipped and called Hawke "mistress".

He went to the kitchens and found her kneading bread dough.

"Hello, Fenris," she said, a cheerful smile on her painted lips. "Are you hungry?"

"No," he said. He stood there in the warmth of the kitchen, trying to find the right words.

"Hawke…" he trailed off. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and began again. "Hawke is a strange woman," he said.

Orana frowned. "Hawke is a wonderful woman," she said. "She gave us both our freedom."

"Why?" he said.

"I don't know," said Orana. "Isn't it enough just to be free? Every week I get money. Money! And I go to the market and I buy whatever I want. And every night I sit at the table next to Hawke's friends and eat with them. That's enough for me without wondering about questions that have no answers."

"She seems so kind…but she's still a magister," said Fenris. "It's hard to believe she's real."

Orana turned back to her bread dough. "She is."

Afterwards he went to the laboratory, just to check on Hawke. She was humming to herself, swirling a vial of some strange green substance, and she did not hear him enter. He took the moment to watch her, her brown hair flowing to her waist, the curve of her hips.

"Mistress Hawke," he said, softly.

She turned around with a smile. "Hey, Fenris," she said. "I'm almost done here."

He nodded and stood in the doorway, uncertain what to do with himself. He thought about what those hips might feel like under his fingers, soft and yielding, but he could not help but also think of them under Danarius's pale and wrinkled flesh.

Did he love her or hate her? He was not certain.

She returned to her study, where a large messy desk awaited her, papers strewn everywhere.

"I have to answer some letters," she said.

"I will stand guard," he replied.

"I think I'm safe enough in my own home," she said. "You really don't have to do that."

"I…would feel more comfortable," he said, "if I knew you were safe."

She sighed. "Okay," she said. "But the standing part, at least, is a bit much. Let me get you a chair."

He stepped in front of her, alarmed. "I can get it," he said, quickly, not wanting her to wait on him again. She was standing so close to him he could smell the herbs she had been working with, the sweet earthy scent of elfroot and the musk of deep mushrooms. It was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her and bring her that little bit closer.

She looked at him for a long moment, not speaking. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled when they caught his. She reached up and brushed his white hair out of his eyes.

"Okay, Fenris," she said. "If it makes you more comfortable."

He pulled up a chair and sat by her at the desk. She turned and opened the first letter. He stared at the strange squiggles on the paper and could hear Hawke sigh as she looked over the contents.

"This is from my friend Aveline," she told him, though he had not asked. "She's the captain of the guard in Kirkwall, where I'm from. It sounds like things are not going well there."

"You are from the Free Marches?" he said. "Hadriana always complained about you being a Ferelden barbarian."

Hawke laughed. "That's not surprising," she said. "I was born in Ferelden and grew up there, so I still have something of an accent. But I went to Kirkwall to escape the blight, and it was there that I really felt at home."

"But you left?" he said.

She did not smile. "You don't want to hear that sordid tale, do you?" she said.

"I do," he said.

"Well," she said, "I can't tell it as well as Varric, but I'll try." She took a deep breath. "Do you know about the Circles of mages and the Chantry's role in controlling them in places other than here?"

"I know some," he said.

"Well, in the Free Marches and Ferelden, and other places, mages are feared and hated. We are kept in Circles, locked up and watched over constantly by Templars, who are basically the Chantry's personal army."

"I had heard of such things, but I never knew there was truth to it," said Fenris.

"Anyway, in Kirkwall there was a lot of tension and hate between Templars and mages. The Templars were abusing their power, killing mages or making them Tranquil on a whim. Anders…Anders took it especially hard, could not bear to see the oppression and injustice being done. When tensions came to a breaking point between the Templars and mages, they turned to the Grand Cleric for a solution."

Hawke sighed and turned away.

"Anders blew up the Chantry and killed the Grand Cleric," she said. "So there could be no compromise, no peace. The Templars threatened to kill all of the mages because of it. I couldn't let that happen, couldn't let them kill so many innocents. So we slaughtered them. And then we ran."

Fenris stared at her, shocked. "Anders blew up a Chantry?" he said.

"Yeah," she replied. "It eats at him, what he's done, but he believes it is the right thing. There were so many calls for his execution…but…he's a good man and a dear friend. I could not do it. So we ran."

Fenris should have been more shocked about the story, but he was distracted by the softness in her tone when she spoke of Anders. _A good man and a dear friend,_ he thought. Was that why she hadn't asked for any of his other services? Did she have someone else to do it for her? He felt bitter jealousy rise like bile in his throat at the thought. Perhaps she just liked mages, Anders and Danarius…

"Anyway, Aveline's letter is about the rebuilding effort in Kirkwall. Apparently it's not going so well. I wish I were there. I should be there, helping out."

"You are…doing good here," he said. "Freeing Orana…and myself."

"Thanks," she said, with another sad smile he did not understand. He could see dark circles under her eyes and she looked so tired.

"Mistress," he said, "you look tired. Perhaps you should rest."

"I'm not your mistress," she said. "And I'm fine. I just have…things on my mind."

So she would not tell him. Would she tell Anders instead? Fenris scowled, but Hawke was opening the next letter and did not notice.

After she'd attended to her mail, Hawke stood and stretched, sighing.

"Well, now that I've bored you to death, what should we do?" she said.

Fenris stood, stunned. She was asking him?

"I know," she said, when he did not reply. "You need weapons and armor. Come on, let's head to the market."

It was a grey, drizzly day, mist settling in on the city. Hawke took him to a large shop that sold both armor and weapons, and told him to pick out whatever he liked.

He looked around, glee rising in his stomach. He looked for all the world like a child in a sweets shop, as he tested one sword's sharpness, another's heft, measured the thickness and material of different sets of armor with his fingers. In the end he settled on tight fitting brown leather augmented with metal plates, and a pair of gauntlets with sharp protrusions on the knuckles and fingers. He found a greatsword nearly as tall as he was, with the perfect weight and heft.

Hawke gave him a strange, intense look when she saw him in his armor, swinging his sword to get the feel of the new weapon. He could not tell if she was pleased or not, and it made him anxious. Still, she paid for the armor without a comment about the cost, though he imagined it must be expensive.

When they got back home, it was nearly dinnertime, and several of Hawke's companions were milling about. The pirate—who he'd mistaken at first for a body slave—eyed him, grinning.

"You look good," she said, standing close to him. "I like that armor, it suits you."

"Thank you," he said, a little uncomfortable. Hawke saw them standing together and scowled, and Fenris stood straighter, unsure of the reason for his mistress's displeasure, but hoping to mend it.

That night Hawke pulled a large sofa from the other room into her bedroom and positioned it by the fire.

"If you want," she said, "you can sleep here until you're ready to have your own room."

"I…thank you," he said, softly. "You are so kind."

She looked even wearier, eyes downcast. "It's nothing, Fenris," she said.

Late that night he woke to the sound of gentle crying. The whimpers were soft, stifled, but he could still hear them and each one felt like a blow to his chest. He could not be still.

He rose and lit a candle. Hawke looked up at him, surprised. In the dim light he could just barely make out the glistening streaks of tears on her cheeks.

He sat on the bed next to her, unsure what to do.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said, softly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said. "I…have I displeased you in some way?"

She smiled, though her eyes still glimmered with tears. "No, of course not."

He forced the words to the surface, though it felt strange and impertinent to ask such a question of his mistress. "Why do you cry?" he said.

She took a deep breath. "It's…not important," she said.

He felt deflated. She did not trust him. He had not been good enough for her.

Perhaps he could still remedy the situation, though. He had other skills, ones he had not yet shown her.

He let his hand slide beneath the blankets and ran it up the length of her thigh.

She looked at him, eyes dark and flashing in the candlelight.

"Fenris," she said, "what are you doing?"

He grazed her thigh with his nails, and reached up to rub against her smallclothes. She whimpered just a bit when he touched her _there_, but she managed to take his hand and pull it away from her.

"I wanted to make you happy," he said, sadly. She did not want him…that much was clear. Was it Anders? Was it Danarius?

Suddenly he was angry, so much so he felt he would burst with it. How dare this mageling play with him so, tease him with her gentle caresses and her kindness? She made his emotions run wild, hot and uncontrolled, and when he lost control it was dangerous.

He wrenched his hand free from hers and pushed both her shoulders down to the bed so she was pinned beneath him. He took her wrists in one arm and held them above her head.

"Danarius is good enough for you to fuck, but I'm not?" he said, whispering bitter words against her ear.

"It's not like that," she replied, struggling beneath him. When she looked at him her eyes were dark and she bit her lower lip. He thought for a moment that it was want in her eyes, lust, but that was impossible.

"Than what is it like?" he snarled at her. She shuddered when his breath brushed her ear. He watched her close her eyes and sigh, and he could almost swear she pressed her body up against his where he was straddling her.

Desire swept him in a wave, making him almost shake with it. He grabbed one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing through the fabric of her nightshirt.

"Fenris," she whispered, and his body responded to her voice, heat pooling in his groin.

"Tell me why you were crying," he said.

She looked away from him, staring at the flickering candle on the other side of the room.

"I do not deserve you, Fenris," she said.

He looked at her, puzzled. His desire melted away as he saw the deep sadness in her eyes. He let her wrists go, moved off of her and sat beside her on the bed, watching as she sat up and curled her knees to her chest.

"Let me sleep," she said, softly. It was the closest thing to an order she'd ever really given him, and he dared not disobey. But he lay awake the whole night, desire turning him hot, anger turning him cold, until he was exhausted.

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><p>Thanks for all the reviews! It always makes my day when I come home and there are reviews in my box! You guys are the best!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

I wasn't entirely happy with this chapter when I posted last night, so here it is with some tweaking and rewriting to make it smoother and hopefully flow better. Special thanks to Janele for her critique! And thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, faving, and alerting!

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><p>In the morning, Hawke said nothing to him about the night before, and he did not press the issue, though it lingered in his mind throughout the day. After breakfast, Orana informed them of a visitor.<p>

Fenris followed Hawke to the sitting room to greet the visitor, and his heart clenched when he saw Hadriana, a golden pin holding back long black curls, standing in the entryway.

"Hadriana," said Hawke, her voice cold and harsh. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I was heading to market and I thought I would stop by and visit my newest friend," said Hadriana.

"How kind of you," replied Hawke.

Orana brought them a bottle of wine and they sat together in the living room, exchanging pleasantries and flatteries.

"I thought Danarius instructed you to get rid of that slave," said Hadriana, looking up at him.

"He has not been disobedient," said Hawke. "He has been a model slave, really, and I see no need to waste such an…asset."

"That may be," said Hadriana. "But perhaps now that the slave has been…corrected, Danarius will want him back."

"If he does, he is welcome to speak to me," said Hawke. "But unless I am mistaken, you do not speak with his voice."

"I simply thought to let you know you're treading upon dangerous ground, Hawke," said Hadriana, all pretense of friendship gone from her voice.

"Oh?" said Hawke.

"Indeed. If Danarius was to find out you kept his favorite little pet for yourself, he might be most displeased."

"Are you threatening me?" said Hawke, her voice soft and dangerous.

"No need for such ugly words," crooned Hadriana. "It is simply a friendly piece of advice."

Hawke frowned.

"So tell me, Hawke," said Hadriana, "how have you been enjoying this slave? I speak from experience when I say he is quite skilled."

Fenris's pulse quickened. He knew what Hadriana was asking for, even if Hawke did not, and he hoped fervently that Hawke would not allow it.

"He is indeed skilled," said Hawke as calmly as she could, though her face was flushed and she had clenched one hand into a fist.

"Perhaps you might loan him to me, one of these days," said Hadriana. "His company might make me…forget to mention anything to Danarius about your dalliance."

"No," said Hawke.

Hadriana's mouth made a perfect 'O' for just a second, then she regained her composure.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me," said Hadriana. "I know Danarius will be most displeased with you otherwise. As a friend, Hawke, let me tell you it is not a good idea to risk his anger."

"No," said Hawke.

"It seems you're rather attached to the little wolf," said Hadriana, laughing. She had that gleam in her eyes that meant she had uncovered a vulnerability.

She shot a very familiar spell his way, one that had him gasping in pain and suddenly on his hands and knees, the floor surprisingly close.

"Hadriana!" Hawke's voice was cold and angry, a tone he'd never heard before.

Hawke stood, staring at Hadriana, who remained in her chair, smirking. Suddenly Fenris could feel a strange warmth spreading from Hawke—the scent of blood magic heavy in the air. Hadriana was pulled into a standing position by the spell, plucked like a puppet on strings and propelled forward until she and Hawke were nearly touching.

"I tire of this," said Hawke. "I did not come to Tevinter to play petty games with your kind."

Hadriana opened her mouth but could not speak or move her limbs. Fear was apparent in her eyes.

"I'll give you a single warning," said Hawke, whispering now, her lips close to the magister's ear. "Don't fuck with me or mine."

The magic suddenly ceased, and Hadriana fell to the floor, gasping.

"It was wonderful to see you," said Hawke, as though nothing had happened. "Give Danarius my affectionate greetings."

Hawke turned and left the room, Fenris following, bewildered. They heard the slam of a door as Hadriana let herself out.

His head was spinning. Hawke—a blood mage? He had thought she was different, special, but she was just like all the other magisters, grasping at whatever straws would bring them power.

She misread his expression.

"She won't have you, Fenris. I will protect you."

"With blood magic?" He could not stop the words, they fell out of his mouth of their own accord, bitter.

"If I need to," she replied.

"I never thought…you would be a blood mage. I thought you were different. I thought you were better than them."

"Blood magic is a tool, like a sword or a fireball," she said. "I'll use it if I need it."

"Blood magic is dangerous. It corrupts…"

She whirled around to face him. "You think I don't know the dangers?" Her voice was low and angry, almost a hiss.

"A blood mage killed my mother," she said. "And my lover helped him with his," she let out a strangled chuckle, "research."

She turned away from him, staring into the fireplace. "The man who had been my lover…destroyed the Kirkwall circle with blood magic. He meant to kill the templars but once corrupted he could not tell friend from enemy. I killed him."

She clenched her hands. "Because Merrill is a blood mage, I killed an entire Dalish clan."

She turned back to him. "So yes," she said, almost yelling. "Yes. I know the dangers of blood magic very well!"

He could see angry tears glinting in the corner of her eyes, but he did not care.

"If you knew the dangers, you would not tempt them so! You are just like any other mage, all you care for is power!"

"And what does it matter to you?" she replied, hissing. "I'm just another Mistress to you. You follow me around and guard me because you think for some reason you have to."

She turned away from him and stared into the fireplace.

"You…" he could not find the words to finish.

"I never know what you want," she said, "or if you're just trying to please me."

The question baffled him. What he wanted _was _to please her. It had never occurred to him that he might want something just for himself.

He just stared at her, trying to think of the right answer.

A glowing Anders strode into the room. "Not all mages are evil!" he yelled at Fenris. "It's people like you who are at the root of all this oppression!"

The dwarf and the pirate ran into the room behind him.

"Whoa, whoa," said the dwarf, "let's not burn down the house. Isabela, why don't you take Blondie here and see if you can calm him down."

Isabela grinned, showing her teeth. "I know a way to make Justice take a hike," she said, taking Anders's hand and pulling him forcefully from the room.

"Fenris," said the dwarf, "why don't you come with me for a minute. I've got something to show you."

Fenris looked at Hawke.

"Go," she said, her voice low.

He obeyed her, following the dwarf out of the room and out of the estate. They walked in silence for a while, until they came to a tavern. The dwarf walked in and greeted the bartender.

"The usual, and a bottle of whiskey for my friend here," said Varric.

"Coming right up," said the bartender.

The two of them walked towards the back of the tavern, and Varric led Fenris into a large, luxurious room with several cushiony chairs.

Varric relaxed into the chair that was obviously dwarf-sized, and when Fenris stood awkwardly in the doorway, Varric gestured to another chair. "Take a seat," said the dwarf, so Fenris did.

"Do you do anything without being ordered to?" said Varric.

Fenris shook his head.

"You need a better imagination, my friend," said the dwarf. The barkeep deposited a bottle of whiskey, a shot glass, and a large mug of ale on the table. Varric took a large sip of the ale and grimaced.

"Rat piss," he said. He tilted the bottle of whiskey, filling the shotglass to the brim.

"Drink up," he said, and Fenris did as he was told. He'd never had alcohol before, and it made him feel strangely hot, like he was blushing.

"So, you gonna tell me what that little lovers' quarrel was about or do I have to get you drunker?" said Varric.

"Lovers' quarrel?" said Fenris.

"Oh, come on," said the dwarf. "We all know you're crazy about Hawke. She's the only one who doesn't see it. Don't even try to deny it."

Fenris nodded.

Varric shook his head. "I've had better conversations with Bianca," he said. "Look, pretend like I, uh, ordered you to speak your mind. Or better yet, pretend Hawke ordered you to."

"I will…try," said Fenris, though he knew Hawke would never order him to do any such thing. Her accusations were still ringing in his ears.

What did he want? He had never thought about it before, never thought he could want something. It hurt less not to want anything.

"Well don't pull a muscle or anything," said Varric.

Fenris just stared at him. This was perhaps the strangest encounter he had ever had. He was unsure how to act, and the whiskey was making him feel warm and strangely contented despite his uncertainty.

"So tell me the story of how Hawke freed you," said Varric. "I want to add it to the Hawke chronicles. Another one of her heroic deeds to immortalize."

"It's not a good story," said Fenris.

"Well, just tell me the facts, and I'll make it one," said Varric. "That's what I do. You think killing a high dragon is poetic and beautiful? No, it's messy, with blood and guts all over. I take that and I spin it into gold."

The words came tumbling out of him, as though they'd been lodged in his throat ever since it happened.

"I disobeyed Danarius, my master, for the first time when I met Hawke," he said. "He beat me for it. Beat me almost to death, and Hawke healed me."

"Rough," said Varric, sympathy in his voice. Mercifully he did not ask what order Fenris had disobeyed.

"She was so kind…" he said, "so gentle and sweet. No one had ever treated me like that before. But I had to go back to Danarius eventually. When I did, she told him I was permanently damaged, that I wouldn't ever be as strong as I had been before."

Varric nodded, and Fenris took another drink, shuddering at the taste.

"So Danarius decided to get rid of me. Hadriana, his apprentice, asked if she could be the one to…dispose of me, but Hawke said she wanted to do it. I was terrified of both of them."

Fenris took a deep breath and stared down at the table.

"Hawke seduced Danarius," he said, "and afterwards, after I'd spent the afternoon with Hadriana, he sent me with her."

As he spoke, comprehension dawned on him, followed by horror. She had slept with Danarius—so he could go free. How had he not realized it before?

"Holy hell," said Varric, leaning forward. "She slept with Danarius?"

Fenris stood. Varric's surprise was a secondary concern. Hawke…he had to speak to Hawke, to tell her how wrong he'd been.

"I have to go," he said to Varric. "Thank you for the drinks."

"Anytime," said Varric, smiling. "Come back if you've got any more juicy secrets to spill…"

Fenris walked quickly back to Hawke's estate, long strides propelling him through the dim streets. Hawke greeted him as soon as he walked in the door.

"I was worried about you," she said.

Fenris smiled. Hawke looked lovelier than usual, hair falling all around her face, her green eyes intent and concerned. The walk home in the cold had sobered him up enough that he was no longer stumbling over his own feet, but he could still feel whiskey-induced warmth in his belly, which was now being joined by another kind of warmth altogether.

He stepped close to her, so he was almost touching her.

"You slept with Danarius…to free me?" he said. "You shouldn't have, Hawke. I'm not worth it."

"I'd do it again," she replied, eyes flashing and defiant.

_What do you want? _It was as though her voice had invaded his head, asking again and again, _what do you want, Fenris?_

Something propelled him forward, almost violently, his skin glowing blue where he was marked. He kissed her, hard, pressing his lips against hers and assaulting her mouth. She did not push him away, but opened her mouth in return and let her tongue entwine with his.

When she did finally pull away, she was panting, and her soft breaths were maybe the most erotic sound he'd ever heard.

"I can't," she said, looking away from him. "I…this is wrong."

She walked away from him then, to her room, and he didn't follow her for once. He stood, pacing the room. _What do I want? _The question was relentless.

And then he knew.

He went to her room and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. She was standing by the bed in some sort of white nightdress, her hair falling loose around her shoulders.

"I want…" the words were strange and slippery on his tongue—dangerous. "I want to touch you, Hawke."

She smiled, then, and stepped closer to him. She took his hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing it, first the tips of his fingers, then his palm, then his wrist. Her kisses were strange and tingly on his sensitive skin, but the affection made him feel warm in a good way.

"Is this okay?" she whispered to him.

He nodded, unable to speak. He lifted his other hand to her face, and caressed her cheek, marveling at how warm and soft her skin was beneath his fingertips.

She bit her lower lip and her cheeks flushed. She stood still, staring as he unfastened his gauntlets and let them drop to the floor. His fingers wasted no time exploring her, one clutching her hip through the thin robe she was wearing, the other grabbing at one of her breasts. She ground her hips against his and kissed his neck, her lips soft and wet as they traced a line up to his ear, where she licked and nibbled until he growled and pushed her back onto the bed.

He unfastened the buttons on her robe and pulled it off. He stood over her as she lay on her back on the bed, drinking in the sight of her body, her pale skin, the round circles of her nipples, the curve of her hips. He bent over her and kissed one of those nipples, enjoying the feeling of it hardening against his lips.

She gasped. "I don't want to take advantage of you, Fenris," she said.

He growled again, this time without words, and pinned her wrists to the bed.

"What if _I_ take advantage of _you_?" he said, whispering the words into her neck. "What then?"

He pulled back and continued unfastening his armor. He stood before her, naked, and let her eyes roam over him, smiling darkly when he saw desire flare in those green orbs.

He let his hand slip into her smallclothes and rub against her. She was slick and hot against his fingers.

"So you do want me," he said, more to himself than to her. He slid a finger into her opening and she moaned. It was almost too much for him, to see her almost naked, moaning in pleasure. He pulled down her smallclothes and knelt between her legs. Her hand came up to wrap around his length and squeeze, and he gasped.

She had the presence of mind to gasp "Is this okay," as her hand rubbed against him.

He nodded, looking into her eyes to remind himself it was Hawke, Hawke touching him, Hawke's body so soft against his—her green eyes were a barrier against memory.

She guided him to her entrance and he slowly thrust inside her, an inch at a time, holding her squirming hips down as she tried to get him in deeper.

"Please," she gasped, and that one word was his undoing. He thrust himself deep into her, marveling at how slick and hot she was around him. She raised her hips to meet him, wrapping her legs around his waist, and moaning with each of his movements. She raised her head to kiss him and he came, shuddering, groaning into her lips.

He didn't want the moment to end, so he didn't pull away right away, but let his head rest next to hers on the pillow, holding her in his arms.

Gradually, as passion and anger subsided, his senses came back to him, and with them the full implications of what he'd just done. She had not asked for his services, but he had gone ahead anyway. Would she hate him now? Throw him out of her house? Give him back to Danarius?

He turned to her and was surprised to see a lazy smile on her face, which disappeared when she saw how upset he was.

She groaned. "Was it that bad?"

"No, it was…it was wonderful."

That brought her smile back. "It was, wasn't it? But was it what you wanted, or were you just trying to please me?"

"I…" he had been so certain, driven by desire, but now that his passion had faded, he was unsure again.

She sighed. "I'm a horrible, horrible person."

"You are the best person I know," he replied. He wanted to touch her, just to reassure himself, but he did not dare.

"Let's get some sleep," she said, after a long silence. He got up to go back to his couch, but she caught him by the arm. "Stay with me," she said. "Please."

She snuggled up against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist, and before long her breathing was deep and even. He took the opportunity to run his fingers through her hair and over her soft skin, but it was a long time before he slept.

He woke, once, the warm body beside him tricking his sleep addled mind into thinking he was back with Danarius. But as his senses returned, the softness of her body reminded him where he was, and he drifted back to sleep, relieved and even perhaps contented.


	5. Chapter 5

He woke slowly, lazily, the next morning, drifting in and out of sleep.

He was in a bed—a huge, soft bed, and it was like sleeping on a cloud.

The creak of the door opening forced him all the way awake, and with consciousness came panic. He had slept the whole night in a bed—Danarius was sure to be angry. He sat up, quickly, and leaped from the bed.

But it was only Hawke, carrying a tray of breakfast foods and juice, her eyes roaming appreciatively over his naked body.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you. Here, I brought us some breakfast."

She set the tray down on the dresser and stood next to it, smiling at him as he hurried to dress, lest he offend her with his nudity.

"Fenris," she said, her voice soft. "Did…was last night that terrible?"

He stood still. He had displeased her. He could hear it in her voice.

"It was wonderful, Mistress," he said, bowing his head. "I apologize for sleeping late and not attending to your needs this morning."

Hawke groaned. "I can't believe I slept with someone who calls me Mistress," she said, more to herself than him. "You don't have anything to apologize for. I am the one who should be sorry."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're still acting like I'm your mistress. Which means, the wonderful sex last night…" she groaned again, "…the sex was just you trying to please your mistress."

"And that…displeases you?"

"Fenris, you are not my slave. You don't have to do what I say. You don't have to please me."

"I do not know how to be free," he said, looking at the ground. "I do not know what I want." He looked at her, eyes pleading. "I don't know how to want something."

She took a step closer, eyes dark, and he realized he did want something—the touch of her skin, the caress of her gentle hands, the warmth in her smile. It wasn't just sex that he wanted; although he understood that perhaps sex would be a more normal desire.

He wanted _her. _He wanted to be the one she turned to when she cried, the only one to feel the caress of her hands on his skin, the one to make her happy. He wanted all those things with such yearning that it ached to think of them.

"Give it time," she said. "It takes time to re-learn how to live, how to be."

He nodded. He wanted to reach for her, to bridge the small space between them, but he was unsure.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Hawke went to answer it.

Orana's sweet angular face appeared on the other side. "I have a letter for you," she said, holding out a white envelope.

"Thanks, Orana," said Hawke. She moved back to her desk and opened the envelope. Her expression changed as she read it; worry settling her jaw in a firm line.

"This is a summons from Danarius," she said, casting the letter aside. "I bet Hadriana ran to him and told him everything."

Fenris nodded, anxiety creeping through his chest. Would Hawke return him, like a good apprentice? Or would she refuse and put her life in danger? He was not sure which possibility would be worse.

"I should go answer this," she said. She pulled out a worn robe from her closet and began putting it on.

"I will go with you," he said.

"No," she replied. "I think you should stay here. It'll be safer for you."

"I will go with you," he repeated.

She turned and looked at him. "I don't want to put you in danger," she said.

"I am your bodyguard," he said. "I will protect you. How can I do that if you don't take me with you when you go somewhere dangerous?"

She sighed. "We'll talk about it later."

They went downstairs and found Isabela, Merrill, and Carver sitting around the table playing cards.

"So, you're going to give Danarius what he deserves," said Isabela. "Can I go?"

"It's dangerous," said Hawke.

"Oh, well, then count me out," said Isabela. "I hate danger and excitement."

Hawke grinned.

"Danarius is a powerful mage," she said. "We'll need a plan. Surprise is best." She sat at the table and faced Carver. "I need your help, Carver," she said.

Carver groaned.

"Come on," said Hawke. "You've been dying to kick some mage ass ever since we left the Marches. Admit it."

"I guess," he said.

"Great," said Hawke. "Now, Isabela and Merrill," she turned to the two women, "If I go in there with an armed posse, Danarius will know something's up."

This was another side of Hawke, one Fenris hadn't seen before—the fearless leader, marshaling her troops. It was surprisingly compelling.

"I hate to ask you this," said Hawke, "but it would be best if you two seemed non-threatening. Can you pretend to be my slaves?"

"Oooh, role playing," said Isabela. "Count me in."

"I want to play too!" said Merrill. "Is it dirty?"

"If you do it right," said Isabela.

"You'll be most convincing if you're body slaves," said Hawke. "Isabela, put on your sluttiest outfit, and give Merrill one too. Try and hide your weapons as best you can. Merrill, you'll have to do without a staff."

"Oh, dressing up!" said Merrill. "I love Isabela's clothes. They're so sexy."

After an hour, the gang was ready to go, Hawke in her robes, Carver and Fenris beside her in armor and heavily armed, and Merrill and Isabela both scantily clad with gold jewelry clasped around their necks and wrists.

No one gave them a second glance as they walked through the streets. A magister often took several slaves with her when she went out, it was a way of flaunting wealth and influence.

A sweet looking young elf greeted them at the door and showed them into the living room. Hawke and Carver sat in the large red chairs. Playing the part, Merrill and Isabela sat on the floor and Fenris stood behind Hawke, a silent sentinel.

Danarius came down the stairs and greeted Hawke with a smile and a kiss on her hand that made Fenris irrationally angry.

"Such a pleasure to see you again," he said.

"The pleasure is all mine," Hawke replied. "This is my brother, Carver."

Carver and Danarius exchanged pleasantries.

Then Hawke and Danarius exchanged more pleasantries, and flattery, for what seemed like an hour, before Danarius finally got to the point.

"I see you still have my slave with you," said Danarius.

"He has been quite obedient," said Hawke. "I have had no problems with him."

"I see," said Danarius. "Perhaps I was too hasty to dismiss him. Or perhaps the threat of death was enough to make him see the errors of his ways."

The magister turned to Hawke, his tone light and jovial. "In either case, I would like him returned."

"No," said Hawke.

Surprise registered on Danarius's face for just a moment before he got himself back under control.

"He is a capable and skilled slave, to be sure," he said, "but I must remind you he is my property."

Hawke nodded, sipping her wine. "No," she said. "You cannot have him back."

"Hawke," said Danarius, his voice lowering an octave—into the pitch Fenris knew meant danger, "I am not playing with you. Return my property."

"No."

"Perhaps you Fereldens don't understand how things are done here," he said, his voice soft and generous again. "Nevertheless, I assure you that you will regret this course of action. Return the slave."

"No."

"I could take you to the courts," he said, "for stealing my property…but I would hate to bother the fine officials with something so trivial." He stood, reaching for his staff. "Return my property, or I will be forced to take it from you."

Hawke stood as well, answering the challenge. "If you want him," she said, lifting her staff, "come and get him."

Fenris could feel his skin tingle as Danarius drew power to himself. Hawke and Merrill stepped backwards, away from him, and the magister looked pleased that he'd intimidated them. He began to cast a spell, but Carver stepped forward. With a strange tug on his markings, suddenly the air was clear and devoid of magic, Danarius's spell completely dispelled.

Isabela had taken the opportunity to sneak around to Danarius's back, where she pulled two daggers from somewhere in her skimpy outfit. Danarius gathered his power again, but his spells were noticeably weaker now. Carver and Fenris drew swords and rushed at the magister, who cast an incantation on the floor which summoned shades to fight them.

Merrill ran forward, blood dripping from her arms, and enveloped Danarius in strange green vines that penetrated his shield and began choking him. Hawke drew a glowing green glyph on the floor beneath the shades and froze them in place while Carver and Fenris chopped them to bits.

Isabela managed to slide her daggers between the thick vines around Danarius, and soon the magister was on the floor, on shaky hands and knees, blood dripping from several wounds.

Hawke held up a hand and as a single unit, everyone ceased attacking. She walked forward and knelt before the magister.

"I have been looking forward to this," she said, smiling. "Fenris," she beckoned him closer.

Danarius's eyes widened with fear.

"No," he said, "you don't want to do this!"

"Oh, but I do," said Hawke. "And I think Fenris does too."

"I have information," said Danarius. "If you let me go, I can tell you where his sister is."

Fenris froze. A sister? He could remember nothing of his past, nothing before he was given his markings a few years ago.

"Tell us, and we will let you go," said Hawke. Fenris stared at her, shocked. She would let a dangerous enemy go so that a slave might know a little bit about his life?

"Swear it," said Danarius.

"I swear I will not kill you," said Hawke.

"Your sister's name is Varania," said Danarius. "She serves Magister Ahriman!"

Hawke nodded, thoughtfully. "Thank you, Danarius," she said. "Is there anything else you know about her?"

"I know nothing more, I swear it" said Danarius. He struggled to his feet.

Hawke turned to Fenris and inclined her head towards Danarius. He read her intent in her eyes.

He gathered his power to him, the lyrium bridging the gap between this place and the fade, so he could exist somewhere between the two. Danarius saw the familiar gestures and his eyes widened, panic apparent on his face, but before he could move Fenris thrust out his fist and crushed the beating heart beneath his fingertips. Danarius slumped to the floor, dead.


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris poured a glass of wine, watching the red liquid slowly pool in the crystal glass, glinting in the dim candlelight. Across the long, polished table, his sister watched his movements. Her eyes were cold, cruel. There was never any hint of warmth in the orbs like green glass, no kindness, just the endless calculations and glint of ambition. Her mouth would have been soft and sensual were it not caught in a constant downturn, which made her always look slightly worried.

Fenris slid the wine across the table and Varania caught it, and poured herself a glass. She glanced at him and did not smile as she raised her cup between delicate fingers.

"To us, brother," she said, and Fenris raised his glass as well, without enthusiasm or celebration. He drained his glass quickly and poured another one.

"Don't drink too much," said Varania, watching him. "I've got another job for you tonight."

Fenris nodded.

"This one's another magister, so be careful," said Varania. She handed him a small scrap of paper. "Here's the address. There's a balcony around the back that leads directly into her bedroom. Your best bet is to make it quick and sneaky, like you did with the others."

Fenris nodded again. Varania did not require much from him except obedience. Aside from his duties intimidating and often assassinating anyone standing in the way of her ambitions, she left him be.

It had been a year, a year since Hawke had sent him away. It seemed somehow much longer.

Hawke…it would do no good to dwell on her, to try and remember her face or the feel of her hands. He drained his glass of wine and began preparations for the night's duties.

It was raining hard by the time he set out for the magister's estate. He still wore the armor Hawke had bought him, but had replaced the greatsword with one that Varania had enchanted—a gift after his first murder.

His white hair stuck to his forehead, his body soaked and slick by the time he reached the estate. He climbed easily up to the balcony. The glass door was locked, but the rain muffled the noise he made breaking one of the panes of glass and reaching in to turn the handle.

He moved towards the bed and extended a gauntleted fist towards the sleeping magister, whose form he could just make out in the dim light.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning illuminated the room. Fenris stumbled backwards as though someone had stabbed him.

It was Hawke.

A second later, thunder crashed and rolled through the room, and he could see the shadowy figure moving, awake. She cast a spell and a wisp of light floated to the ceiling, casting a yellow glow across the room.

Fenris did not move from his place above her bed, did not try to hide. He was paralyzed in place, could only stare at her, the way the shadows played over her face and neck.

"Fenris?" she said, her eyes wide.

"Hawke," he said.

"You came back," she said, smiling widely.

She had no right to smile like that, like it had only been a day since she had last set eyes on him. She had no right to smile at him. He felt anger rise in his chest and it was almost a welcome release, a reprieve from the aching emptiness that had filled him for a year.

She stood and lit a candle on the dresser nearby. Fenris watched her move, saying nothing.

"Fenris?" she said, turning to him. Her voice was so soft and tender when she said his name.

He took a step closer to her. "Why did you send me away?" he said. He kept his voice level, neutral, trying not to betray the maelstrom of anger and need that swirled through him.

She looked up at him, her eyes sad, soft.

"I wanted you to be free," she said. "I didn't want to be your mistress. I wanted you to find freedom."

He laughed, bitter.

"Freedom?" he said. "You wanted me to be free?"

He took another step towards her, until they were almost touching. "Every night I think of you, yearn for you, need you. You wanted me to be free? I can't. I can't break free of you. I am as much of a slave as I ever was—but a slave to you."

Hawke put a hand on his cheek, her touch as soft and warm as he'd remembered it. "If that is slavery, then I am bound as well," she said. "I think of you every night, miss you every day." She smiled at him. "Every time I go to the market, I scan the crowd for a glimpse of white hair. Every time I heard someone come in the door, I hoped it was you, coming back to me."

He kissed her, pressing her up against her dresser, pinning her with his hips. His hands traced the curve of her neck and slid down her body, marveling at how soft she was, how unchanged, how his fingers sank into her flesh just as he'd remembered it.

"Can you forgive me, Fenris?" she said, pulling away from the kiss. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done, sending you away."

His hands continued exploring her body, while his eyes traced her face, looking for sincerity.

"Don't ever do it again," he said, almost growling.

Her face lit up when she smiled at him. "Is that an order?" she said, one hand plunging into his wet hair.

He paused for a second at her words, unsure. Would she send him away again for daring to tell her what to do?

She noticed his hesitation and smiled, running a hand down his chest, over his armor.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm not your mistress. You can give me orders, and if you give me enough incentive, I might just obey them."

He couldn't help but laugh, just a little, relief flowing through him.

"How's this for incentive?" he replied, running a tongue over her rounded ear. She gasped and pulled his hips closer to her own. Her hands slid down to his greaves, deftly unfastening buckles.

He had never felt a need like this before, so consuming, so overwhelming. He lifted the hem of her nightgown and slid his hands into her smallclothes, glad to find she was just as eager. She thrust her hips against his hand, moaning, and he slid a finger into her.

He helped her slide his greaves down his legs and he lifted her onto the dresser. She wrapped her legs around him and guided him to her entrance.

She was slick and hot, so tight around him. He gasped, and thrust against her, hard and fast. She shuddered against him and he came, moaning into her neck.

He stood there, not wanting to pull away from her, not wanting to see what came next, but to hold onto his perfect moment as long as possible. For a year of nights he had yearned for this, for her.

He listened to the patter of rain on the roof, the slow rumble of thunder that had moved off to the distance. Hawke's hand idly stroked his back where his armor left his skin exposed. He hadn't even taken off his jerkin, and her nightgown was bunched up between them.

She looked up at him, expectantly, and he reluctantly pulled away from her and helped her down off the dresser.

He was unsure what to do, his emotions no less volatile for the release. She watched him, eyes wide. That gaze always made him feel as though he were the only person in the world. It was a powerful, intoxicating feeling.

"Fenris," she said, pulling his hand. "Come to bed." She began to unfasten the buckles on his jerkin and he stood, numbly, letting her undress him.

It felt good, ridiculously nice, just to lay in bed with Hawke snuggled against his chest. He stroked her hair, twining the long strands between his fingers.

He fought sleep for as long as he could. He wanted to stay awake, to preserve the precious moments with Hawke, to remember the sweet sound of her breath.

She might send him away again, but he would not go. Not this time, not when Hawke was the target of Varania's scheming. A surge of protectiveness swelled in his chest, a strange feeling, almost like an ache. He would protect her; keep her safe, no matter what.

"I swear to you," he whispered into her hair. She was asleep, her breathing deep and even. "I swear to you, I will protect you to my dying breath."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I updated, my finals were intense this year! I should be back to regular updates now.

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><p>Fenris slept in fits and starts.<p>

He would wake at the slightest touch of Hawke's thigh along his own leg, and want to wake her and have her again and again.

And once he was calm, a bolt of thunder might crack outside the balcony doors and he would be seized with a fierce and frightening need to clasp her tight when she winced at the sound.

Or her hair would fall across his chest like a soft blanket, and it would make him unbearably angry, angry that she had sent him away, angry for the year he'd spent yearning for her, and angry at himself for falling back into her arms without a second thought.

Sleep did not truly take him until the pale light of dawn began to fill the room.

He woke again, much later, to an empty bed, sunlight streaming in through the glass doors to the garden balcony. His armor was neatly piled in a chair nearby and he dressed quickly, agitated.

Downstairs in the sitting room he found the dwarf, who was sitting at a writing desk scribbling away.

"Morning," said the dwarf, inclining his head towards Fenris. He did not seem at all surprised to see the elf, even after his year long absence. "Hawke's in the garden."

"Thank you," said Fenris.

"Good to have you back," said Varric, grinning at him. "Hawke's been an absolute bitch since you've been gone."

Fenris nodded as though he understood.

He walked through the estate's hallways on a rich red carpet, soft beneath his bare feet. The estate was much bigger and grander than the one she'd occupied before, more fitting to a magister.

And he thought of Hawke, in magister's robes, in the crystalline senate halls, just as Danarius used to be. Before she'd killed him, killed him to save Fenris's life.

And yet…

Danarius had attacked first. Hawke had merely defended herself and what some might consider her property.

Had he been an excuse, a clever way to remove Danarius? Once the other magisters heard of his death, fear would surely keep them in Hawke's line.

Fenris had hated Danarius, had been glad the old man was dead…but now he wondered if he had merely been the tool in a greater plan.

It was foolish, really, to think that a magister would go to such lengths for a slave. Of course it was a part of a greater political ploy.

By the time he'd reached the garden, this train of thought turned over and over in his head, his fists were clenched into tight knots, itching to hit something.

Hawke turned to him as he burst through the door. She smiled at him.

"Hey, Fenris," she said, softly. "How did you sleep?"

He did not speak, could not speak. What could he say?

"What is it?" she said, noticing his tense posture, the clenched jaw.

"A year ago," he said, unsure where to start, "a year ago I wouldn't have cared."

"What do you mean?"

"A year ago I would have been happy that you used me, happy to be a pawn in your schemes so long as it helped you, somehow."

"A pawn in my schemes? Fenris, what…?"

"I'm a different man, now, Hawke. I'm not a slave any longer. And I'm not going to play your games."

"My games?"

She was staring at him, eyes wide and confused. It only made him angrier.

"Don't play dumb with me, Hawke," he said. "Danarius's death has turned out rather well for you, hasn't it, Magister?" He spat the last word at her, an accusation.

"That's not why I killed him," she said, her voice firm. "I killed him because of what he did to you."

"If you cared so much for your slave," he replied, yelling, "then why did you send me away?"

"Because I was weak," she said, her voice soft and sad. "It was too tempting to let you stay, Fenris, to let you call me Mistress. It was too tempting to keep you as my own. You would never have left me, never have turned me down, never have wanted anything more."

"You didn't want a slave?" he said, laughing. He did not believe a word of it.

"I didn't want your obedience," she said, "or your blind devotion."

"Then what did you want?" he said. He was truly curious. What more could one want?

She looked down at the floor, ashamed, then raised her head back up to meet his eyes.

"I wanted you to love me," she said.

He stared at her, stopped as cold as if she had frozen him with magic. Was she telling the truth? Was she really such a person? Did she love _him_?

She did not look at him, then, eyes trailing back to the floor.

He raised a hand, and did not know if he wished to hit her or caress her cheek. He let his hand fall and walked out the door. She did not chase after him.

People parted for him as he stalked through the streets with a scowl and long, loping strides. He made a formidable figure, the greatsword strapped to his back, murder in his eyes.

Varania was waiting for him in the study, her green eyes cold as glass when she looked up at him.

"That magister," he said, breathless and agitated, "she is the one who saved me from Danarius."

Varania's expression of detached interest did not change.

"I see," she said. "So you didn't kill her?"

"No," he said.

Varania stood, walking up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Leto," she said, her voice caressing his name. She only called him Leto when she wanted something particularly desperately.

"Leto," she repeated, "I know you feel you owe this woman some sort of debt for freeing you…"

He nodded, unsure how to tell her it was so much more than that.

"…but she's just another magister, like Danarius."

Was she? He was not sure.


	8. Chapter 8

To all of you wonderful people who've read and reviewed, thank you! This story is not going to be continued any more. I was never entirely pleased with it, and so I am rewriting it from the beginning. Check out my story "Grace" for a retelling of this one that is hopefully much better.

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><p>The wine was bitter and rich, the taste of it lingering in his mouth. He drank from the bottle, then threw it across the room, where it shattered in the corner, leaving a dark stain on the wall. The shards of glass joined several others already scattered on the floor.<p>

How many days had it been since he'd seen Hawke? He was not sure, but the pile of broken glass in the corner and the number of corks arranged symmetrically on the nearby table spoke of at least two days of heavy drinking. The room blurred, all the walls fuzzy and curving, and Fenris chuckled for no reason in particular.

Far away he could hear the front door slam, announcing Varania's arrival. She'd been gone all day, attending some Senate function with Magister Ahriman.

He liked when she was gone, liked the quiet and solitude. None of the slaves dared bother him, not when he was in a mood this foul, and so he had not spoken to another person since Varania asked him again to kill Hawke.

He winced as the name bubbled up into his consciousness, as though it were sharp edged and jagged. He could still see her face, the delight that had lit up her smile when she first saw him, the sadness that had made those beautiful features sag when he walked out.

He could hear her voice, cold and commanding when she spoke to Danarius, soft and sweet when she tended to his injuries. The injuries she'd healed were long gone now—barely a scar to show where they had once been, but the memory made him ache just the same.

Steps, staccato and loud, echoed through the hall. He focused his eyes on the door as it opened and his sister stepped in. She was still dressed in her finery, a black velvet robe embroidered with red and tied with a fat gold sash.

Varania wrinkled her nose, scowling.

"It smells like you went swimming in a cask of wine," she said.

"Not a bad idea," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I worry about you, Leto," she said, her voice softening. "You've been up here for days, drinking and refusing to see me."

"Have I kept you up at night?" he said, a slight chuckle on his lips. "Dear sister, please forgive me." He gave her the best bow he could without rising from his chair.

Annoyance crossed her features, her elaborately painted eyes narrowing, red lips pursing in a scowl.

"What did you tell Hawke?" she said. Her voice was no longer soft or sympathetic, it was hard as chipped stone.

_I will protect you to my dying breath,_ he thought, remembering the feel of her hair and her soft body curled within his arms.

"I told her nothing," he said.

"She doesn't know you were sent to kill her?" Varania persisted, green eyes darkening.

"No," he said.

Varania ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her brow. "Then what in the Black City could she be planning?" she said, more to herself than to Fenris.

She turned back to her brother. "Did she tell you any plans?" she said. "Did you see any important letters, a diary maybe?"

Fenris shook his head.

Varania sighed. "Did she say anything about the Archon? Or perhaps the Qunari?"

"No," said Fenris.

"There's got to be a reason." Varania paced around the tiny room. "Think, Fenris. Is there any reason Hawke would step down from the Senate?"

"She what?" said Fenris.

"She resigned. Stepped down as a magister. Made some little speech about how she was there for the wrong reasons and how she didn't deserve the title."

Varania took a deep breath and a long swig of wine from Fenris's bottle. "This is the woman who killed the Arishok in single combat, who slew Danarius in his own home…She must have a reason…Some kind of plan…"

"Me," said Fenris. He looked up at his sister. "She did it for me. To prove that I can trust her."

Varania looked down at him with something like pity, and laughed. "That's sweet, Fenris," she said, "but Hawke is a magister. She's not going to give up all that power and prestige for a slave."

"I am not a slave!" Fenris shouted, standing.

A slight flicker of amusement crossed Varania's face. "Of course not," she said, her tone placating. "But to a magister like Hawke, do you really think there is a distinction?"

He sat back down. "I don't know," he said, his tone softer, almost a whisper.

"When I am a magister," said Varania, "things will be different. You will have the respect you deserve, brother."

Fenris nodded, numb. He barely heard Varania speak. His thoughts were with Hawke, picturing her stepping down from the Senate seat, bowing her lovely head in apology. Had she done this thing for him? Or was it a ploy, a power play so clever even Varania could not fathom her next step?

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><p>The abomination answered the door at the Hawke Estate, his features darkening when he saw Fenris on the doorstep.<p>

Fenris casually sidestepped the punch Anders threw, reflexes honed by years of training.

"You have a lot of nerve, showing up here again," said Anders.

"I'm here to see Hawke," said Fenris.

"So you can break her heart again?" said Anders. "I think not. Get out of here before I start throwing fireballs."

"I…broke her heart?" said Fenris, confusion swirling within him. Magister Hawke surely did not care that much about the comings and goings of a slave.

"I don't know what you said to her," said Anders, "but whatever it was must have been pretty cruel to make her cry like that."

"I need to see her," said Fenris.

"Go to hell," said Anders. He turned and slammed the door shut behind him.

Fenris walked slowly to the side of the mansion, his legs moving automatically as his mind whirled. Hawke had _cried_ over him? Over a slave?

Perhaps the abomination was lying. Perhaps Hawke had another reason for wanting to avoid him.

He climbed over the fence into the garden, landing softly in a darkened corner. Beneath a nearby willow tree, he could see the light of a spell wisp hovering in the air, soft and golden. He walked towards it.

Hawke was sitting beneath the tree, watching the darkened garden. Her eyes traveled over him, resting on his face. Her expression was closed, cautious.

"Fenris," she said, her voice so soft he almost didn't hear her.

He knelt down beside her, staring into her face as though he could read the truth of her in her eyes.

"I am not a slave," he said, watching her carefully as he spoke. Her eyes remained wide and soft, gentle as he remembered.

"I know," she said. She let a hand press against his cheek. "Slavery is something that happened to you. It is not who you are."

"I don't know…who I am…what I want," he said, his voice rough, struggling over the words.

"It takes time," she said. "And I will wait for you, as long as it takes."


End file.
